A Canadian Heroine eBook

All next day they both kept indoors. Lucia tried
to persuade her mother to drive out into the country,
but even for this Mrs. Costello had not courage.
At the same time she seemed to be losing all sense
of security in the house. She fancied she had
not sufficiently impressed on Father Paul the importance
of not betraying her in any way to Bailey. She
wished to write and remind him of this, but she dared
not lest her note should fall into wrong hands.
Then she thought of asking him to visit her, but hesitated
also about that till it was too late. In short,
was in a perfectly unreasonable and incapable condition—­fear
had taken such hold of her in her weak state of health
that Lucia began to think it would end in nervous
fever. With her the dread of Bailey began to be
quite lost in apprehension for her mother, and her
own affairs had to be put altogether on one side to
make room for these new anxieties.

In the afternoon of that day Mrs. Costello suddenly
roused herself from a fit of thought.

“We must go somewhere,” she said.
“That is certain, whatever else is. As
soon as Maurice comes we ought to be prepared to start.
Do go, Lucia, and see if there is any packing you
can do—­without attracting attention, you
know.”

“But, mamma,” Lucia objected, “Maurice
cannot be here to-day, nor even, I believe, to-morrow,
at the very soonest, and I will soon do what there
is to do.”

“There is a great deal. And I can’t
help you, my poor child. And there ought not
to be a moment’s unnecessary delay.”

Lucia had to yield. She began to pack as if all
their arrangements were made, though they had no idea
either when, or to what end, their wanderings would
recommence, nor were able to give a hint to those about
them of their intended departure.

Another restless night passed, and another day began.
There was the faintest possibility, they calculated,
that Maurice, if he started as soon as he received
Lucia’s note, might reach them late at night.

It was but the shadow of a chance, for Hunsdon, as
they knew, lay at some distance from either post-office
or railway station, and the letter might not reach
him till this very morning. Yet, since he might
come, they must do all they could to be ready.
The day was very hot. All the windows were open,
and the shutters closed; a drowsy heat and stillness
filled the rooms. Mrs. Costello walked about perpetually.
She had tried to help Lucia, but had been obliged
to leave off and content herself with gathering up,
here and there, the things that were in daily use,
and bringing them to Lucia to put away. They said
very little to each other. Mrs. Costello could
think of nothing but Bailey, and she did not dare
to talk about him from some fanciful fear of being
overheard. Lucia thought of her mother’s
health and of Maurice, and Mrs. Costello had no attention
to spare for either.

Suddenly, sounding very loud in the stillness, there
came the roll of a carriage over the rough stones
of the Place. It stopped; there was a moment’s
pause, and then a hasty ring at the door-bell.
Both mother and daughter paused and listened.
There was a quick movement downstairs—­a
foot which was swifter and lighter than Madame Everaert’s
on the staircase—­and Maurice at the sitting-room
door.